A Fleeting Glimpse
by beege
Summary: Chronicles how Shinji eventually managed to live happily ever after with his soulmate except - who is she?
1. A Fleeting Glimpse

Disclaimer: Odds are you've read hundreds of these suckers already. Imagine there's one here as well.  
  
A Fleeting Glimpse  
  
"Good evening ma'am. If you'd be so kind as to follow me."  
  
The woman gives a slight nod as the maitre'd greets her, and follows him to the corner table she has reserved. The heels of her shoes click against the polished oak floor as she follows him across the large, tastefully decorated room. Many would impressed by the quality of the furnishings, or would notice a deliciously tantalising scent wafting from the kitchen. Even the more jaded patrons are invariably impressed by the panoramic views of the city at night, which are visible from the huge curving windows. The woman barely notices. She has other reasons for being here. As the maitre'd pulls out a chair for her at a corner table set for one, she notes with approval that the glow from the discreet lighting is fairly dim by the time it reaches this table. The shadows will obscure her features nicely.  
  
She gives the menu a cursory glance and makes an indifferent enquiry of the chef's talents before making a disinterested choice. The minimal attention she gives her meal when it arrives might suggest to an observer that it bordered on the inedible, rather than being quite exquisite in both quality and preparation. Her beauty, in combination with her obvious lack of a dining partner, attracts the attention of several men at nearby tables over the course of the evening. There is even one bold enough to brave her aloof air, but when he speaks to her, she makes a quiet response that sends him away with alacrity, his eyes wide and his face pale.  
  
Then the lights dim save for those near a low stage set up in the opposite corner of the room from where the woman sits, and a member of the staff steps forward to announce that the post dinner entertainment will soon begin. The woman's head snaps sharply around at this announcement, her attention focusing subtly but unwaveringly on the stage. A young man steps up into the lit area, carrying the instrument with which he has built a reputation as a highly talented young musician. Moving with hesitant grace, he sets up his music and removes his cello from its case. There is a low murmur of appreciation as some of the more knowledgeable observers recognise the young man. Their respect for his ability is indicated by the speed with which they hush when he gently gestures for silence.  
  
His brilliance lies in the fact that rather than simply playing the music as an ends in itself, he uses it as a conduit by which he expresses what he feels. It is little wonder then that his work is so powerful, for only the most callous soul would deny that this man's life has left him with untold reserves of emotion on which to draw. He plays with a passionate anguish, imbuing his music with sense of sorrow that pours forth from the cello's strings and reaches out into the hearts of his audience. And beyond all the sorrow in his music, he plays a single, solitary strand of hope. One listener, sitting alone at her corner table, is especially struck by the young man's poignant melody. She alone, of all those present, is the only one paying equal attention to the musician as she is to his music. So it is that only she notices the single salty liquid orb that creeps out from under a closed eyelid to roll slowly down his cheek.  
  
She daren't hope that it is in memory of her.  
  
This is not the first time she has watched and listened from the shadows. At first his performances were held in seedy clubs and dingy bars as he struggled to pay his way through college. Later, as he slowly rose through the ranks of his profession, she has appreciated his music in venues of increasing quality. She often despises herself for her obsession, but more often for her inability to move beyond the role of observer. But there are too many regrets, too much on both sides unforgiven or left unsaid. The memories form a mountain she may never be able to scale.  
  
As the performance ends, she stands abruptly. Her throat too choked to speak she leaves payment on the table before moving rapidly toward the door with a stiff gait. Just as she is stepping out, something in her manner draws the cellist's attention, tweaking some long ago memory that compels him to look up. Shinji raises his head just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a woman he is sure he recognises before she vanishes into the night.  
Author's Notes  
  
I'm reposting this little trilogy of oneshots (it finally is a trilogy) as one story now that the last instalment is finally written. Look for 'Wishful Thinking' and 'Happy Endings Are Allowed' to appear as the second and third chapters shortly. 


	2. Wishful Thinking

Wishful Thinking  
  
Life is good. I realise this every morning when I wake up, but it never ceases to surprise me. It says a lot about me, I suppose, that when the sunlight coming in through the window drags me out of the dream world and into this one there's a fleeting moment of dread before I open my eyes and am reassured that everything is the same as it was yesterday. It's irrational, but there's still a moment of overriding relief every morning when I see that spectres of my past haven't snuck up on me in my sleep. All of that . . . it really is over. I know this not because of the trials, not because NERV was disbanded or because the EVA's were decommissioned, but because I don't have the nightmares any more. It's truly over.  
  
I gaze aimlessly out of the kitchen window as I make breakfast, thinking about the day ahead while losing myself in morning routine. I teach the cello at a nearby middle school. Small classes, three times a week. It doesn't pay that much though, which is mostly why I take on some performance work as well. I get a fair number of offers these days. Sometimes because of how I play and sometimes just because of notoriety. I never accept the latter type, although they can get pretty pushy. It doesn't amount to that much work, but it helps keep me comfortable financially while leaving enough time for what I love.  
  
What I love is to teach. This came as something of a surprise to me when I first realized it. I'd thought it was just another job that would help support me while I graduated. Instead it turned out to be what I wanted to do with my life before I even realised it. I won't try to describe it, because I know I'll only end up speaking in clichés. I've heard people wonder why someone with my talent bothers to teach children at some unknown middle school, but in truth I sometimes wonder why I bother doing anything else.  
  
The journey to the school where I teach takes about twenty minutes by bicycle. The train ride is inexpensive and five times faster but I prefer to be out in the open - and I don't much like to travel by train these days. Although the seasons are slowly returning to normal the weather is rarely inclement, and I take pleasure from cycling through the park on my way to work. I see people enjoying themselves and I savour the feeling of the breeze against my face. It's fun, too, when I catch the odd strange look from a passer-by, staring at the strange man who's somehow keeping his balance on a bicycle with a cello case strapped to his back. I don't dwell much anymore on how the capital city of a country as crowded as Japan came to have so much space available for a park in the first place.  
  
"So Shinji, up to another round with the little monsters?"  
  
That's Kurosawa Ayame, the head of the music department at the school where I teach. "I am and they aren't, respectively."  
  
"They're not ready for you?" she asks, teasing me by deliberately misunderstanding. I roll my eyes in response.  
  
"No, they're not monsters."  
  
She doesn't reply, except to snicker slightly. Bantering with her has gotten to be a regular feature of my week. I don't have that many friends really, but she's definitely one of them. Maybe even more, considering some of the things she's said to me. I'm still trying to decide how I feel about that. She's both nice and pretty, yet whenever I think about her I can't help but think of someone else as well. You'd think after so much time has passed the memories would fade, at least a little. They haven't.  
  
I still wonder what happened to her, what she's doing now, where she is. And I wonder how she'd feel if she knew I still think about her. I should get on with my life, I suppose, but it doesn't always work like that. Sometimes I even imagine I see her, like at that restaurant the other night.  
  
In my heart though, however much I wish she was around, I know better.  
  
It's only wishful thinking. 


	3. Happy Endings Are Allowed

Happy Endings Are Allowed  
  
I slide the door open as quietly as possible and slip carefully inside, tiptoeing until I can slip off my shoes. My father is playing the cello in the next room and I have no desire to disturb him. For as long as I can remember I've loved listening to him play, ever since he played lullabies for me when I was a baby. I steal down the hall as quietly as possible, knowing that he'll break off at once to greet me if he becomes aware of my presence. Peering around the corner into the living room I can't help but smile as I see him curved over his cello, eyes closed, lost in the music. Mother says that he meditates when he plays, sorting out his thoughts and feelings so that he can come to terms with them. If that's true then I can't help but feel that there's a lot I still don't know about my father - and probably never will.  
  
I know that my parents were pilots, of course, ( no way could my father ever hide his scars ) although they prefer not to talk about it. I can understand that - but it leaves me with a lot of unanswered questions. Aunt Misato ( who hates being called that, by the way ) talks about it sometimes but I can tell there's a lot she either won't mention or simply doesn't know. I do know that the course of true love most definitely didn't run smooth, but that's about it. I don't think it's unreasonable to want to know how my parents met and fell in love. After all, I wouldn't be here if they hadn't.  
  
Lost in my thoughts it takes me a moment to notice that father - though he says I can call him Shinji now if I want - has stopped playing and is giving me the same look of warm affection that I gave him a minute ago. "Please Kaoru, stop leaning around the corner and come in." My father is smiling as he speaks, and his smile is somehow present in his voice. For as long as I've been old enough to notice he has always had the most beautifully expressive voice.  
  
I quickly walk over and hug him before he has time to put down his cello, forcing him to hold his arms out wide and submit to my show of affection. We used to play this game all the time when I was younger, after I saw my mother do it to him once and decided, as only a little girl could, that it looked like a lot of fun. It was. Now it's a way to remind him how much I love him. "I'm glad to see you too, sweetheart" he tells me as I finally let go of him. "How have you been?" "I'm fine. College is going great, I like my new roommate and . . . do I smell cookies?" This earns me a legitimate grin from my father - who was once so shy, according to Aunt Misato, that a smile from him was less likely than hearing her pet penguin speak - and he stands up to lead me into the kitchen.  
  
"They're delicious, as usual. You should open a restaurant like mother and I keep saying you should. A lot of people like western food and you're so good at it!" "Too much bother for me Kaoru. I'm happy being a humble music teacher." Another smile, this one a smaller and much more personal quirk of the lips as he makes the joke. "Humble. Suuuure" I drawl in reply "if you say so." And I acknowledge the joke with my own small smile.  
  
We sit and talk over cookies and his equally excellent tea, catching up on news, telling stories, exchanging a little gossip. He tells me about the latest antics of his students and I regale him with the tale of how my roommate nearly got caught sneaking into the dorm at half past two in the morning. I've always been able to just talk to him, without any awkwardness or uncertainty. When I mentioned this to him once he told me he'd learnt the importance of being open the hard way. Eventually it's time for me to leave and I tell my father goodbye with a distinct sense of regret. He reminds me that I'm coming for dinner at the end of the week 'So you mother can see you as well' and the next thing I know I'm outside, headed for the nearest train station.  
  
Love you, I think, staring up at my parents' apartment for a moment before I walk away.  
  
As he goes to stand in front of the window so that he can watch as his daughter walks down the street, a dozen stories below, Shinji quietly shakes his head in mingled amazement and joy. He has had a quarter of a century of peace and happiness but after all that time he remains deeply aware of his good fortune. "I guess it all worked out after all" he murmurs to himself with a soft chuckle, before returning to his cello.  
Author's Notes  
  
Yes, Shinji named his daughter after Kaworu, using the female version of the name. This may seem cliché but I felt it was a very Shinji-esque thing to do. Besides, Kaoru is the name of a major character in one of my other favourite anime series, Rurouni Kenshin.  
  
On a separate issue, when I first sat down to write 'A Fleeting Glimpse' more than a year ago I had been inspired by another shortfic and had a specific character in mind for the story (and no, I'm not going to tell you who). However, before I posted it I noticed that a lot of reviews in the NGE section of ff net praised or abused a story based solely on which pairing it featured (usually involving Shinji) and nothing else. This is something that royally pisses me off, for a couple of reasons. The first is that the relationships in Eva, especially the possible romantic ones between Shinji and, well anybody, are pretty damn ambiguous. There's no solid evidence in NGE canon that Shinji is more likely to end up with one girl over any of the others. Secondly, it's unfair and unreasonable to judge a fic based purely on which coupling it endorses. Don't plot, characterisation, description, etc matter at all? I have seen some shockingly mediocre stories praised for no other reason than their main pairing, and good fics trashed for the same reason. It would be nice if people were more discriminating. And this brings me back to my reasons for rewriting 'A Fleeting Glimpse' with the woman's identity concealed.  
  
During my original irritation over this story favouritism I looked over Glimpse again and realised that it would be relatively easy to swap the female character I had chosen for any one of several other female NGE characters. The very fact that this was possible seemed to me to be proof that there's no definitive romantic relationship between Shinji and any of the ladies. NGE doesn't have an equivalent of Ranma and Akane or Keitaro and Naru. So in an attempt to illustrate this point I decided to rewrite my story as a kind of fanfiction Rhorscach test, where everyone would be able to insert their own preferred character into the story.  
  
'A Fleeting Glimpse' received a modestly positive response and I was motivated to write a sequel, as much to further prove my point as anything else. After that I let my plans for a third ( and definitely final ) instalment waned. Just recently I found myself with some spare time on my hands, rediscovered the draft I'd written of 'Happy Endings Are Allowed' and noted another rash of biased NGE reviews on ff net. So I decided to re- release the first two stories along with this one as one package, which had been my original plan, and write this little essay to clarify what my intentions for this trio of stories are.  
  
Later -  
  
beege 


End file.
